Za Romantika i Priyatelstvo
by Belfast Docks
Summary: "She makes him feel ordinary, because she is so extraordinary, and he likes that feeling. It is the first time in a long time that he feels like an average person, and not like Victor Krum, famous Quidditch player." Missing moments from Harry Potter & The Goblet of Fire. Victor/Hermione, VERY subtle Ron/Hermione.


**Author's Note:** A brief missing moment from _Harry Potter & The Goblet of Fire_, written ages ago as a writing prompt. Because even though I do ship Ron/Hermione, I have a soft spot for Victor/Hermione, too. This is very short, and explores Victor's thoughts regarding Hermione during the Triwizard Tournament. It ends within the 4th book. I considered adding a bit from _Harry Potter & The Deathly Hallows_, but decided against it. I really wanted to keep this in the _GoF_ timeframe.

 **Verse:** BOOK. So don't leave a review complaining that Hermione's Yule Ball dress is supposed to be PINK. Because it was blue in the books, and that was one thing about the movie that drove me up the proverbial wall.

 **Pairing:** Victor x Hermione, VERY subtle Hermione x Ron

 **Title Translation:** The title, "Za Romantika i Priyatelstvo" is Bulgarian (thank you, Google Translate...let's hope you are correct) and means "Of Romance and Friendship". Be glad I didn't put it in Bulgarian script; I figured no one would read the story if I did that.

 **Rating:** Soft T, for teenage boy hormones and tight pants. Probably over-rating it, really.

 **Disclaimer:** Don't own, just playing with characters. Reviews are appreciated. Flames are ignored and marshmallows are toasted over them with glee.

* * *

 **Za Romantika i Priyatelstvo**

 **(Of Romance and Friendship)**

* * *

He first ventures into the library because he wants to see if Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry offers books on subjects _other_ than the Dark Arts. He waits until two hours after dinner because he is tired of the bombardment of twittering girls demanding his signature, scrawled in ink or lipstick or nail polish on various articles of clothing. He only plays Quidditch because he loves to fly; the fame, unfortunately, is a heavy beast to carry. Sometimes he wishes he were an ordinary wizard with ordinary abilities – life would be much simpler, he knows. But his life isn't like that, and so he skulks through the corridors and dodges into at least two classrooms to avoid being seen, during his second week at Hogwarts.

However, the moment he enters the vast library, he loses himself amongst the shelves – shelves that tower to the vaulted ceiling and seem to go on endlessly – and he forgets that he is famous.

This is his other love: knowledge. Without knowledge, one cannot hope to become more than what they are. One cannot remember the past, one cannot move forward.

Between the dark rows he glimpses others at work, Hogwarts students finishing essays and pouring over texts; mostly older years, he notes. But at the end of one row near the back of the library, he unintentionally discovers a small worktable beside a tall, mullioned window, and he pauses out of wariness when he sees the younger girl sitting there, her head bent over a large Charms volume that seems far beyond her years. She is not a sixth or seventh year studying for final exams. She is only a fourth year – he recognizes her as one of Harry Potter's friends, for he has seen her about the castle and in the Great Hall with the Boy Who Lived. He edges slowly around the corner of shelving, hoping that if he keeps his head down, she will not notice him and subsequently beg for his autograph.

She does not. It is as though he is only a shadow as he slips around her. It is as though she didn't even notice him.

On the next row, hidden in darkness, he wonders if he is glad about that, or if he is confused by it. All the other girls are desperate to meet him; why is she _not_? Did she just not see him?

But perhaps it is because she _is_ Harry Potter's friend. Maybe she is simply accustomed to fame.

oOo

She goes there quite often, he realizes. Between classes, she ducks in and grabs one or two books, sometimes standing amongst the shelves to read only a few lines before shoving the text back in place and darting out again. She is usually there after dinner, and always on the weekends for several hours each day. She never pays him (or anyone else for that matter) any heed, and he is rather glad of it, for it gives him the opportunity to study her in between studying advanced magic out of the variety of textbooks he pulls down to read.

She is not what people call stunningly beautiful, but _he_ finds her quite pretty. Her hair is thick and can never decide if it would rather be wavy, frizzy, or curly – but when she tugs on an errant lock and sucks on the end of her quill as she contemplates an essay, he finds the sight cutely endearing. She is studious and it shows; he has heard rumors that she is very intelligent for her age. Occasionally he hears the amused, cruel snickers of rather mean students that pass her by and roll their eyes at her. She does not seem to notice them, and he wonders if she is oblivious to their teasing or if she simply does not care what other people say. She rarely takes her robes off either, but the few times she does he notes that she has a curving figure, not yet completely filled out and still awkward, like a young colt. But she has more grace than a gangly colt; her books never fall off of the table and she seems to have poise about her that others don't – even when carrying a satchel fit to burst.

Inevitably, he is discovered in the library – giggling, squealing girls always manage to find him between the shelves or at whatever hidden table he has contrived to sit at (anything is better than studying aboard the ship, with his headmaster leering over him, trying to offer help, while at the same time snarling at his struggling classmates who actually could _use_ Karkaroff's help).

He cannot turn these girls away, for he cannot be ordinary.

And he soon discovers that when _she_ realizes a crowd of star-struck girls has gathered about him, begging for autographs, she scowls and packs her things and flounces out, her shoulder weighed down by books much too heavy for her small frame.

He watches her go sadly each time, while wishing he could lift the burden off of her and carry her satchel for her. She makes him feel ordinary, because she is so _extraordinary_ , and he likes that feeling. It is the first time in a long time that he feels like an average person, and not like Victor Krum, famous Quidditch player.

oOo

The day he pushes the library door open and finds her sitting a table with Harry Potter, he is startled by the coil of jealousy in his gut; the irritating twitch of annoyance he feels when he sees the two of them pouring over a stack of tottering books. He does not want to think that she might fancy the unexpected "fourth champion", but within moments of his arrival, she and Harry leave the library. Instantly, a twinge of fear replaces the biting jealousy. He wonders if she despises him because he is a Durmstang student. Does she think he is obsessed with the Dark Arts like so many other Durmstang students are? Does she prefer Harry, the Boy Who Lived? Does she prefer the boy who vanquished the Dark Lord? Does she think that _he_ would go to the Dark side just because he is enrolled in a school that favors blood purity? Does she believe he would torture others to prove a point, to make himself look better? She has no idea of his grandfather... she has no idea that he _hates_ the Dark Arts!

He barely has time to panic at these ideas when several girls make a dash to his table and begin to gush over him. He signs their slips of paper in a daze, worry gnawing in his chest. He is _nothing_ like the other Durmstrang students, but he isn't certain how to make her understand that.

oOo

After he wakes one night from a dream in which his fingers were fisting in curls and those silky locks were sliding over his knuckles, he wonders if he can gather the courage to talk to her, to ask her to accompany him to the Yule Ball.

He sadly decides he can't possibly – she is too amazing and she seems to hate him.

Two days after the dream, he changes his mind and decides that he _can_. What if someone else asked her first? What if she decides to go with _Harry Potter_?

And besides, he does _not_ want to go with some girl who is only interested in him because he is an international Quidditch champion.

All she can say is _no_. Though, that very thought terrifies him.

oOo

When she blushes furiously and whispers _yes_ to his stumbling, broken request, he is so stunned at his luck that he can hardly talk. _She doesn't hate him_. She thinks he must be a nice person, because he's always so quiet and studious. What she _dislikes_ are the giggling girls that always gather around him in the library – _not him_. They distract her from her studies, but she knows they aren't _his_ fault.

During the nervous, odd conversation that follows, she never once asks him about Quidditch. He can't help but feel immensely relieved at not having to discuss fame and flying, and he finds that the flush across her cheeks is immensely adorable.

oOo

They take to studying together in the library after that; she always seems to be able to find a secluded table where the other girls won't find them. He wonders if she even puts charms about it to repel the others. Whatever the reason for the lack of interference, he is grateful, for it makes him feel special in a way that international fame does not.

Two days before the Yule Ball, he briefly loses his control, and he leans over and kisses just below her ear, on a soft patch of skin. He can smell her shampoo: a scent of roses. She sucks in her breath and drops her quill, and he apologizes in a low, husky voice, not meaning the apology at all, because he desperately wanted to taste her skin.

To his surprise, she shakes her head and stutters that he only startled her.

Such tiny encouragement is all he needs. He cups her burning cheek and turns her face upwards, marveling at her wide eyes and parted lips, before he kisses her slowly at a slanting, deep angle. When she hesitatingly kisses him back, he nearly falls out of his chair.

She breaks their connection a few seconds later, and insists in a faltering voice that she must study. He doesn't push her; she is young and he knows, somehow, that she has never been kissed before now. Instead, he leans over and begins to explain a spell that she was having difficulties with, and she listens intently while she plays unconsciously with one of her curls.

oOo

The Yule Ball leaves him with varying emotions.

When she meets him, he is stunned beyond words at her beauty: her hair is pulled back, sleek and attractive and not remotely untamed, while her dress sparkles in the starlight and reminds him of the bluish snow beneath the full winter moon in Bulgaria. He wants to take her away and not even enter the Yule Ball; he wants to kiss her until she begs for more. He wants to run his hands beneath those silky robes and make her cry out in pleasure. He wants to teach her everything she doesn't know yet.

But he cannot. He is still famous and he is a Triwizard Champion. He has duties to attend to.

When they enter the Great Hall, he is pleased that the other young witches and wizards look so shocked at his choice, and shocked at how beautiful she is. He likes the feeling of smugness. He likes that he has set them all to whispering furiously behind their hands.

But later, when he catches her talking to Harry Potter and the Weasley boy (who looks furious and grouchy, for some reason), he feels a twist of irritation because she has briefly stopped paying attention to him, even though they've been dancing nonstop since the beginning of the night.

And then, his irritation disappears when they find themselves outside in the twinkling courtyard much later, in a secluded rose bush, twisted around each other. He thinks his blood may catch fire and burn them both away. When her tongue slides luxuriously around his and her fingers toy with the hair on his neck, he realizes his pants are growing tighter by the second and he's thankful for his heavy dress robes. He pulls her against him, wishing he could feel her skin to his.

As he says goodbye to her in the Entrance Hall, he wishes to heaven that he didn't have to.

oOo

When he finds her at the bottom of the lake, he feels a sense of desperate relief mixed with extreme irritation – because _Harry Potter_ is there, and the Boy Who Lived won't leave with his own person! He doesn't _want_ Harry's help to rescue Hermione, and he accepts it only because he doesn't want to kill her with his partially transfigured shark jaws.

Forty minutes later, when they are all above water again, his irritation grows even worse. She's jabbering on with Harry and the Weasley boy and completely ignoring _him_ , especially after he's asked her to visit him in Bulgaria that summer. And she _doesn't give him an answer_ , damn it all, which rubs his nerves raw and angers him. What does the Weasley boy or Harry Potter have that he doesn't? What has he done wrong, or not done right? It doesn't make the first bit of sense!

oOo

He asks her to meet with him that night, in secret. He wonders if she will even bother coming. She is so bound to rules that he can't imagine she will break them, even for him. But to his surprise, she _does_ sneak out of the castle and meets him behind a clump of bushes beside the lake, just as he requested. She has cast a Disillusionment Charm over herself to sneak out, and she is twisting her fingers in worry even after she lifts the charm.

"I shouldn't be out," she insists in a hissing whisper. "What do you want, Victor?"

"I vant to know why you von't give me an answer about this summer," he states baldly.

In the moonlight, her eyes widen slightly. " _Oh_." She pauses, then nervously glances away, and says quietly, "I'm only fifteen. My parents wouldn't let me. It's too far, and I'm too young. They wouldn't understand."

"Then... it has nothing to do vith... anyone else?"

"What? No!" She straightens and scowls at him. "Why would you even think that?"

"Because I saw how you vere talking to Potter and the other boy at the lake today. After _I_ rescued you." His voice is dark because he is annoyed, but he doesn't hold it in check. "After _I_ asked you to visit me this summer!"

Hermione stiffens. "Harry and Ron are my best friends! I was simply glad that Harry had worked out the clue, of course! That was all! ...You know," she continues, cutting him off before he can speak, "You're _just_ as bad as they are!" Her voice is suddenly rising in anger. "I thought maybe you were _different_ , because you're _older_ , but I guess all boys are alike! You're all jealous and stupid, aren't you? I can't believe you would be jealous of Harry and Ron!"

Before he can stop her, she stomps back off towards the castle, and casts the Disillusionment Charm over herself to make sure he can't see her. Dumbstruck, he stands on the shore of the lake, seething at being compared to two fourteen year old boys who aren't even at his level in magic yet.

And, too, because he has a sneaky suspicion that she is just a teensy bit right.

oOo

He finds her in the back of the library the next day after dinner, hiding amongst the towering shelves in a secretive nook they have used before. Before she can get up and storm out, he slides into the seat beside her and puts his arm around her, and presses his lips to her neck.

Her small frame quakes slightly. She ducks and tries to pull away from him, but he won't let her slip away just yet.

"Tell me," he whispers in her ear. "Why are your two best friends, boys? I have often vondered. It is unusual for a girl. I am just asking. I am not jealous."

She flushes. "I don't want to discuss it."

He sits back and looks at her. "Please tell me. I vould truly like to know."

A look of sadness crosses her face and she glances down at her books and notes. After a moment, she falters, "I-I don't know. I was never good at making friends. When I first came to Hogwarts, everyone in my year hated me."

"Why on earth vould they hate you?" He frowns severely. "You are a vonderfully kind person."

She tucks a loose curl behind her ear out of nervousness. "That's nice of you to say, but... I can be very bossy and annoying, I suppose."

"I cannot imagine that."

"Ron and Harry hated me too, until Halloween that year. That particular morning, Ron said something that really hurt my feelings. He said everyone hated me because I was such a..." She swallows, as though this memory is particularly painful, before she whispers, "Such a... nightmare. I happened to overhear him. I knew he was right, but I didn't know how to _change_. I didn't know how not to be _me_." Tears fill her eyes and began to fall, dotting the pages of her notes. "I hadn't made friends with any of the girls in my dorm. Lavender and Parvati had become friends right away, and Sarah and Sally-Anne paired off, too. But I was just sort of there. Like... an extra person who didn't fit in. After I overheard him say it, I just locked myself in the bathroom to have a good cry. I stayed there for hours."

She goes on to tell him how a mountain troll got in the castle, and how Harry and Ron saved her life by going into the bathroom and fighting the troll, eventually knocking it out with its own club. In appreciation, she took the blame for their actions and the three had been inseparable ever since.

"Harry and Ron," she finishes, sniffling and trying to wipe her eyes and cheeks with her fingers, "are the only friends I have. I mean, real friends. I have a lot of acquaintances here, but not friends like Harry and Ron. I don't _fancy_ them. We're just friends, that's all." She flushes, and she doesn't meet his eyes. "Harry, he's sort of like... a brother I never had. He's a good person. He hates fame as much as you do, you know."

He notices she does not say anything about the Weasley boy, but he decides not to press the point. Instead, he leans over and kisses her cheek gently, and then slowly kisses her tears away. Hermione whimpers and more tears slide down her cheeks; Victor makes certain to kiss them all, and finally kisses her mouth.

"I am your friend, too," he promises quietly. "Please do not forget that. I am sorry if I irritated you. I will not press you again. Can we be friends?"

To his surprise, Hermione bursts into tears again, blubbering apologies. He holds her close to let her cry. He knows, better than many people, what it is like to be lonely. Perhaps she needs a friend more than a boyfriend, he thinks sadly. But he would rather be her friend than lose her entirely. And for the first time, he is briefly thankful that she _is_ friends with Harry Potter. Because Harry knows what loneliness is...and Hermione needs a friend like that. Perhaps Harry isn't so bad after all. Maybe one day, the two of them can be friends, too.

 **FIN**


End file.
